


one, then two, then three

by psychamonia



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self Confidence Issues, imposter syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:06:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26631094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychamonia/pseuds/psychamonia
Summary: The worst part is that heknowshe could do better. A different day, a different strategy- he could have won. But that’s no excuse. Normally, he isn’t one for excuses.He’s just somadat himself.---Dream deals with losing the duel against Technoblade. (I deal with the fact that it took me three weeks to finish this.)tw: mentions of past self-harm, self-hatred
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 164





	one, then two, then three

**Author's Note:**

> repeated tw in case you missed it: mentioned self-harm, self-hatred

Hands shaking with leftover adrenaline, Dream says his goodbyes and turns the screen off. 

It’s only moments before the tears come, and they’re warm and utterly useless as they spill over his cheeks. He hides his face in his hands, rubbing the drops away before they’ve properly formed, telling himself _it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s one duel, you are still better than most. You are still good. You are still worthy of all you have been given._ It doesn’t help. One duel will turn into two will turn into three will turn into too many to count, until he’s lost his friends, his career, and his reputation all at once, like a single swing of an axe taking out the whole forest in one fell swoop. 

He’s self-conscious and doubtful. Paranoid, even. It’s a given for someone who builds their entire job, their entire _life_ , on such an unstable foundation as the internet. Every win feels unequivocal; every loss, insurmountable. There’s no way to measure how he’ll feel in the next day or week or month or year, because everything he has is ephemeral. Nothing lasts. 

Dream sniffles, reaching for the nearest tissue box. It’s a stupid thing to be so upset over, really- losing a duel in a block game, when you’re splitting the cash anyway- but he’s always been proud. He’s not emotional- unlike Techno, he can manage himself well enough to keep calm and collected and capable of analysis- but he doesn’t know how to take a loss. A real loss, not like the recent Manhunts, where he’s already performing against all odds, where even a drawn-out loss is an achievement. 

The worst part is that he _knows_ he could do better. A different day, a different strategy- he could have won. But that’s no excuse. Normally, he isn’t one for excuses. 

He’s just so _mad_ at himself.

He’s simply not good enough. Not good enough to beat Techno. Not good enough to be ‘the best Minecraft player in the world,’ not good enough to back up the hype _he started_ around this whole mess. Not good enough to stop letting people down. 

Not paying attention to his hands, Dream is surprised when he glances down to see his right hand twisted tightly around his left wrist. It’s instinct, he supposes, simple animal training. He lets go and runs his fingers over the skin, right up the faint blue pathway of the largest vein. 

(There’s no texture there to feel. He was careful, so so careful, not to scar. Now all that’s left are the memories.) 

It rattles around in his head like the last mint in a tin. The desire is so strong- _once more, only once more, just one then two then three_ \- and it makes his fingers twitch towards the drawer. But it’s not there anymore, he threw it out, back when he promised himself he wouldn’t need it. And he doesn’t need it. He doesn’t.

(Just once more, once more, once more. You know you want it. You will feel justified in your hurting, you will feel whole. You will feel _better._ )

He’s so close- to giving in, to walking away. He’s so. Close. 

The sound of a Discord notification breaks him from his distraction, and Dream shakes his head to get rid of the thoughts. He clicks over to the tab to find a message from George. 

**GeorgeNotFound** Today at 8:41 PM  
done with your duel?

He breathes out, sucks in another breath. Counting is useless, but he makes it as long as possible. His heart beats a little slower. 

**Dream** Today at 8:43 PM  
Yeah 

**GeorgeNotFound** Today at 8:45 PM  
cool!  
know i can’t ask for details, but how’d it go?

God. 

**Dream** Today at 8:46 PM  
I...don’t really want to talk about it. 

His heart beats several times before he gets another message.

 **GeorgeNotFound** Today at 8:49 PM   
that’s fine  
you’re okay though?

 **Dream** Today at 8:49 PM  
Yeah I’m good

No, he’s not. 

**GeorgeNotFound** Today at 8:50 PM  
okay :) want to play for a bit?

 **Dream** Today at 8:51 PM  
Nah, kinda sick of it for rn after all the training. Call?

 **GeorgeNotFound** Today at 8:51 PM  
yeah of course! let me get some water, i’ll be right back

Letting out a deep breath, Dream stands and stretches. His eyes catch on the drawer one more time, but he turns away, settling back into his chair and selecting the call button, even though it’s been barely a minute since he got George’s last message. 

Maybe he’s not okay, maybe he won’t be for at least a little bit, but that’s fine. One day at a time. 

Just one, then two, then three.

**Author's Note:**

> i know the duel was a while ago, but i relapsed recently and needed to at least try and work things out. my mind is annoyingly one-track when it comes to writing, so even though this has been half-done since the video, i was writing 'little bee' at the time and it got pushed to the side. i promise i didn't just change the publish date on an older fic!
> 
> thanks for reading! i hope you have a lovely day :)


End file.
